Faye Kellerman - Blindman’s Bluff

Decker thought about a meth lab and all its flammable components. “Did you smell anything funny coming from the apartment?”

“Who got that close?”

“What about the trash? Did you find a lot of antifreeze containers, Drano, lye, iodine maybe?”

“I don’t look at other people’s trash,” Lady 2 said. “I don’t know what he was doing and I don’t care now. All I know is we have more peace.”

“Although there is funny business with Apartment K,” Lady 1 told him.

“Not as bad as with Alejandro. Many bad men come in that apartment. I had to watch my daughters like a mother hen. He had lots of spending cash and had a pretty face-a bad combination for teenaged girls.”

“Any idea where he lives now?”

“No, and I don’t care.”

“Gracias a Dios,” said Lady 1.

“Let him be someone else’s problem.”

Decker said, “Did anyone else besides his mother live upstairs?”

“Who knows?” Lady 2 said. “So many people going in and out…Raul, next time you hit her, you’re getting out!”

“Did Brand have any sisters and brothers?”

Lady 1 said, “I think Alejandro was the only child. Mrs. Cruz was very old.”

“It was his grandmother,” Lady 2 said.

“She used to call him mi hijo.”

“He called her abuela once. She was the grandmother, maybe even great-grandmother. She was very old.”

“So you have no idea where Alejandro went?”

“He’s somewhere in the neighborhood,” Lady 1 told him. “I see him at the market from time to time. I pretend not to notice him.”

“Good idea,” Decker said. “What market?”

“Anderson’s warehouse food and grocery. It’s about three blocks away.”

Decker wrote it down. “How many months would you say it was between when the old lady died and the apartment caught fire?”

“Maybe three months.”

Lady 2 concurred. “Finally he’s gone. Now we have peace and security. We all got together and put in the iron gate.” Suddenly, she narrowed her eyes and glowered at Decker. “How’d you get in here?”

“I reached over and opened it from the inside.”

“Hmmm, that is a problem. We put the gate up for protection. If you got in so easily, maybe we need to think of other things.”

“How tall are you?” Lady 1 asked.

“Six four give or take.”

“How many men do you know who are six four?” Lady 1 asked Lady 2.

“None.”

“Me, too. It’s not a problem.” She looked at Decker. “Make sure the gate is closed on the way out. Next time, use the bell. That’s what it’s for.”

“HARRIMAN JUST LEFT.” It was Wanda Bontemps on the phone.

“What did he want?” Decker tried to keep the acid out of his voice.

“We asked him to come in, Loo.”

Hunched over the steering wheel, it took a couple of beats before Decker processed the words. He had been so focused on Rina’s safety that he forgot that Harriman was actually serving a purpose.

“Yeah…right. The phony interview with Oscar Vitalez. How’d that go?”

“Harriman said it wasn’t him. We tried to convince him that he was the guy based on Rina’s ID, but he didn’t take the bait. He said emphatically that it wasn’t the guy. So I’ve got a couple more guys lined up for him to listen to. We’ve set up another meeting at five this afternoon.”

“Good job, Wanda, thank you. Alejandro Brand-the guy who Rina did ID-doesn’t live at his listed address but he’s still in the neighborhood. I’m going to hunt around. Any luck locating Joe Pine?”

“I haven’t heard from Messing. Want me to give him a call?”

“Yeah, do that. I’m getting another call, Wanda, could you hold?”

“Just take it. Nothing more to say. I’ll talk to you later.”

Decker loved the efficiency in Wanda. The call was from Rina.

“I’ve got some time this afternoon if you want me to look through more mug books.”

Decker knew there was no stopping her. “Sure. How about…three?”

“Great. Do you need anything?”

“No, darlin’, I’m fine. I’m in Pacoima now. I’ll talk to you later.”

“What are you doing in Pacoima?”

“Looking for Alejandro Brand.”

“When you find him, let me know.”

“Why would I do that?”

“So I can ID him in person.”

“Your ID doesn’t mean anything because you didn’t hear him talk about the Kaffey murders. Harriman needs to ID him, not you.”

“Why not both?”

“Because he overheard something suspicious. You didn’t.”

“I can tell you if he’s the guy that Harriman was eavesdropping on.”

“I’m sure Harriman eavesdrops on many people. That’s what got him into trouble in the first place. Look in the mug books, but nothing more. Please be considerate of your weary husband’s feelings and do not get involved any deeper, okay?”

“Stop worrying, Peter. I’m just trying to help.”

The road to hell, et cetera, et cetera. “I know, darlin’. I’ll see you at three.”

“We’ve got a date. I’m bringing a cake for the squad room. If you behave yourself, you can have a slice.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you don’t get a piece and can use it to jump-start your diet for the seventy millionth time. Either way, it’s a win-win situation.”

MARCUS MERRY DROVE them in his 1978 Ford Bronco Ranger with 102,000 miles on it, the three of them crammed into a cabin designed for two. He announced that he was making a stop first and took them across open fields until he pulled up in front of a barn in the middle of nowhere. He cut the engine.

“Just gotta unload some stuff.”

“Need help?” Marge asked.

“Got six crates of produce in the back. If you want to carry one in, I won’t object.”

Oliver whispered to her, “You had to ask.”

“It’ll get us to the sheriff quicker.” She got out of the car and slid a crate of onions over the tailgate.

“Where are we, Marcus?”

“Local food cooperative. Although everything grows out here, no one farmer grows everything. This way we just swap for what we need.” Marcus moved quickly for an old guy. Within five minutes, six crates of onions and garlic had been unloaded and Marcus received credit for his produce. “I was running a little low on points. Now Gladys can shop.”

When everyone was stuffed back into the cab, Marcus drove into “town.” Main Street was two lanes sided by storefronts: general clothing, general feed, one grocery mart, a store for fabrics, a bank, a used-car and tractor lot, and an auto parts store with a big sign that said TRACTOR PARTS. There were also two hardware stores, a movie house, couple of family restaurants, and several drinking man’s bars.

The local courthouse and county jail was the last stop on Main. It was a Federalist-style building fashioned in white plaster, not very large by courthouse standards, but it dwarfed its competition down the road.

The sheriff’s office was on the third floor and overlooked green rows of flat fields. The receptionist was an ancient woman with blue white hair partially covered by a jaunty red beret. The red was echoed again in the woman’s dress and her fingernail polish. She looked up and held out a long, liver-spotted hand. “Edna Wellers. You must be the detective friends of Willy.”

Marge smiled. The way Edna said “detective friends” made it sound like they had come to Ponceville for a play date with Brubeck. “Yes, we are. Nice to meet you.”

Edna looked at Oliver. “Well, you’re a handsome young man. Are you married? I got a daughter. Divorced but her kids are grown.”

Oliver said, “Thank you, but I’m currently seeing someone.”

She gave him a once-over. “You look like you can juggle more than one at a time. Don’t he, Marcus. Back me up on this.”